The Arrangement
by Titanic-fanatic
Summary: You and Levi have an arrangement: You don't kiss. It's not appropriate. You are his subordinate and he is Heichou. Emotions make things complicated and messy - that was one of the rules, the exemption of them was one of his conditions. What happens when you contradict his orders? One shot


**The Arrangement**

It didn't mean anything. This _arrangement. _You find yourself repeating the sentiment as you lie there beside him. This thought keeps entering your mind as you gaze out the window, resting under his sheets, against the warmth of his flesh. He often asks you what you are looking at. You inform him that it is nothing or the moon if it's out.

He takes this on face value, as you expect him to, not pushing for the validity of your statement. His eyes are hooded in your peripheral vision so it is indiscernible to see what he is focusing on. Probably nothing at all.

However you can't help, as your bodies entwine and find that rhythm that is entirely their own, but think that maybe there is something else happening here. When he inspires a sound from you or he releases a grunt of satisfaction there are fleeting seconds when your eyes meet. An exchange occurs, one unknown to you both, and in an instant it is gone. A usual response between two people would be to confirm one's love to the other, an act of assurance or the like.

You don't kiss. It's not appropriate.

You are his subordinate and he is Heichou.

Emotions make things complicated and messy - that was one of the rules, the exemption of them was one of his conditions.

Instead, he either grasps your flesh a little tighter or you dig your nails into he arch of his back. Both actions are acceptable as what other outlet is there? Occasionally he nibbles at your flesh but never tenderly, never lovingly. His fingers are strong, dexterous, raking through your hair. You sometimes mirror the action, raven locks like silk slipping through yours. It just drives home to you that this _pact_, this _deed_ is done out of convenience, of animalistic need. What you do is merely a necessity. It clears frustration. It makes being a soldier _easier_. It meets your basic requirements as humans. It fulfils you. Satiates you beyond reason or comprehension.

He allows your head to rest on his chest when it's done, an act you suppose is out of courtesy. Sometimes it lasts a few minutes, sometimes an hour in this lull, in the act, but you never spend the night.

Part of you wants this to be more.

Part of you wants to remain against him, clammy and entangled.

Part of you hopes he feels the same.

So the next time he has you there, bare bodies hot and panting whilst his forehead is pressed against yours you take a chance. You bring your lips up to his and let them linger.

His eyes dart up at you instantly and he breaks a breath away.

'_This wasn't part of the arrangement'_ his silver stare says.

You remain firm with an unspoken_ 'I know'_

Suddenly, your rational bedmate; the stern man with the stoney expression and unaffected eyes, allows his expression to soften. You've caught him off guard. A novelty in any situation, let alone something this intimate. He is still in you but could just as easily be ten yards away as his eyes watching you. He is not your lover by any means, simply a bystander analysing what just happened.

Then, he grasps your chin roughly in response, titling it up as his decision is made. He clashes his mouth against yours. It is a hungry motion, biting your lip in haste before slipping his tongue in deeper. You moan into his touch, and after a bout between your mouths for control, swollen lips break apart for air.

The arrangement has changed.

The air has shifted.

An agreement is made.

He resumes his movements with a focus now set on his brow. You run your nose the length of his and he follows it's contour down your face, placing kisses down your neck and onto your pulse. Elation like no other reverberates through you. You clench the bed, him. Finishing a moment after he collapses against you, bathed in the moonlight. Breath jagged. You hear your name you think, between the rise and fall of his chest. He runs a palm over your cheek, a question settling in his eyes that you aren't aware that you answer as he rolls to your side.

Resuming you post coital position in the crook of his arm you exhale. His thumb starts tracing up and down your upper arm. You place a palm on his chest, absorbing each inhale with your touch. You go to move, this is too real, but his tracing thumb turns to a possessive grip. You realise you are staying precisely where you are. You relax, looking up at him. Orders are orders. Levi Rivaille is gazing at the moon, face impassive as ever and you, nuzzle closer, entwining your ankles under the sheets.

The quiver in your heart tells you that he's been thinking the same thing all along.


End file.
